


Eight Shades of a Broken Mirror

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Post-Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Afterwards, Remus remembers the last year they had. Note: Sweetness and tragedy. Dedicated to everyone who let me babble at them after I read OotP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Shades of a Broken Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

~ A room, bleak in the moonlight.

He kneels on the floor, his mind mercifully blank. Silver slivers of shattered looking-glass under his hand. They glitter in the moonlight, bright and pure.

Broken beyond repair. ~

A knock on his door, in the dead of the night. He was almost afraid to open it; he could remember the mob that had driven him out of a small town in Scotland on a summer night just like this one.

But he was glad he did open it.

"You look like you've been wrestling demons," he told his visitor.

"I **wish** I had," Sirius muttered, pushing past him. His hair was tangled, his body thin, his face lined with exhaustion. Then he reached a tattered armchair and dropped into it with a flourish, his legs flying up to rest on the armrest, one foot on top of the other. Just as he had used to do in the Gryffindor common room when Remus had convinced him that yes, he did need to study.

Remus smiled.

"You want to talk about it?" he offered. "I'll make tea."

It looked like it had been some time since Sirius had had a good cup of tea, so Remus allowed him to enjoy the first few sips in silence. He knew there was something about the taste of tea that meant home and safety.

"It's bad," Sirius said finally. "He's back, Moony."

"I heard as much. What happened?"

"Harry - he sabotaged the Triwizard cup to get Harry. Turned out we'd been fooled all along, one of Them masqueraded as Moody - he locked Mad Eye in his own trunk and took Polyjuice all the time."

Remus hissed between his teeth. "So that was it. How could we have missed it?"

"I've no idea - Dumbledore **was** preoccupied, but not that much! Anyway, that was young Crouch - you remember, that Ravenclaw kid with a crush on Bella. Four years lower than we were."

The werewolf nodded.

"He turned the cup into a portkey and kidnapped Harry and Cedric Diggory. Apparently You-Know-Who needed Harry's blood to create his new body. Harry... his story was somehow chaotic, but Snape confirmed that You-Know-Who called the Death Eaters to him. Then Harry and Voldemort dueled, and something happened to their wands. Harry was somehow able to escape, and he portkeyed back to Hogwarts with Diggory's body. Crouch almost got him a second time, but Dumbledore finally wised up. That's as much as I've heard."

Remus shook his head. "So it all begins once more."

"Yes. The Headmaster told me to lie low here, so here I am."

A half-smile, and for a moment the werewolf looked even younger than he was, belying the grey in his hair. "You know my door's always open." He picked up the mugs and turned to put them in the sink.

"Moony..."

"Yes?" He turned to look at Sirius.

"Your hair is going grey."

His eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes, it is. After - after - it started greying very fast."

Sirius cocked his head to the side. Then he nodded, once, briefly, with understanding.

~ The shards on the floor are mirrored. They reflect splinters of images. The bleak walls. The night sky outside.

The man's hair, which is completely grey. ~

Two days later, he caught Sirius checking the walls of the small cottage. His friend was frowning.

"Moony, this thing's got more holes than Swiss cheese. How are you expecting to spend the winter here?"

Remus half-shrugged and looked away. It was no secret that his financial resources were limited, and with them his choices of living space.

Sirius saw and understood. He came up behind Remus and put an arm on his shoulder. "All I meant was that I have this house in the city, now that my 'dear' old Mom has passed away, and none too soon. All conveniences, magical heating and a house elf, if he hasn't croaked yet. Big enough for two dozen people, never mind the two of us."

"Two of us?" Remus turned to look at the dark-haired man. "Sirius..."

"Hey, you thought I'd leave you here? What kind of idiot do you think I am?"

The opening was irresistible. Remus started to answer, but Sirius put a hand over his mouth.

"And don't answer it. I got enough cheek from bloody Snape, you're the one on my side."

'This house in the city' turned out to be a cannily hidden residence, full of signs of past splendour. Also all kinds of pests, magical and mundane, but that was something they could handle, Remus thought as he stood in the doorway for the first time. Old, old portraits lined the walls, the dark figures in them fast asleep.

Then an old house elf appeared on the top of the stairs.

"Kreacher," Sirius acknowledged him. "You've been letting the house get dirty. Clean it up."

The elf looked at the wizard with quiet malevolence. "The traitor master is back," he hissed.

"What's he talking about, Padfoot?" Remus asked.

Before his friend could answer, a shriek pierced the air.

"TRAITOR!" a dark-haired woman with familiar features shouted from a portrait. "Betrayer! Muggle-lover! Disgrace to the family!"

Sirius paled, then quickly tore down a curtain and threw it over the portrait. The yelling mercifully stopped. The house elf had disappeared somewhere.

"Who was that?" Remus asked softly.

Sirius stood with his head bowed, surveying the room from under his lashes. "My mother."

Over the next few hours, Remus got to know more. Sirius let slip bits and snatches of stories that added up to a truly frightful mosaic. The werewolf had known some of it from his Hogwarts days, but the extent of torment that had driven his friend away from home was new to him. Sirius, easygoing and confident Sirius, renounced by his family, considered beneath them...

He knew that feeling.

They were in a bedroom upstairs, one that had been (he deduced from the careful way the dark-haired man had touched the traces of posters that had once adorned the walls) Sirius' own back in his childhood. They had driven out a score of pixies and a boggart, but once it was free of extra inhabitants, the room turned out to be surprisingly nice. The bed was large and covered with yellowing but clean sheets.

Sirius stopped the cleaning efforts, groaned and fell back against the bed. His hair spread over a musty pillow, black on pigeon blue.

"This house is a nightmare," he announced solemnly.

Remus sat down beside him. "It's not that bad. It's very convenient for everywhere."

"You really want to stay here?" Sirius peered at him sideways. "Can't we go and live under a bridge together, or something?"

Remus shook his head solemnly. "Bridges are overrated. But if it's too many bad memories for you-"

"No, no way I'm letting you go back to that doghouse you called a cottage. And you're right, it's convenient. Dumbledore can probably use it, if he's really reactivating the Order. We can quarter at least twenty people here."

"Then we should contact him and tell him about it."

Sirius shook his head solemnly. "Sleep first."

He closed his eyes and within a minute was, indeed, snoring like a train engine.

Remus felt laughter bubbling up in his chest. He tried to remember the last time he had laughed before, the last time he had smiled so much. While a teacher at Hogwarts, maybe?

No. He had not smiled that much since James and Lily died.

Only Sirius could make him laugh.

~ The image in one of the shards shivers, wavers.

The water on it has fallen from the man's eye. ~

Remus came home (and when did the old Black house become home?) to an uproar. People seemed to be milling everywhere.

"Dementors," Alastor muttered when he caught the Auror's arm, but refused to say anything more.

Finally he managed to corner Sirius on the top floor, by what had become Buckbeak's room. "What's going on?"

"Dementors attacked Harry," the Animagus spat. "Filthy things - if I could just get out and get him here-"

Sirius' shoulders were shaking with rage. Remus willed his own hands to be still while he poured tea for them both. He thrust one cup at Sirius, who barely caught it.

"Drink." The werewolf's voice was dull, dim with suppressed anger. "We need to get ready. The children are already staying here, we'll just bring Harry over as well."

Sirius nodded. "Moody says the same thing, as soon as we can. But - I just-"

The dark-haired wizard's fingers were digging deep into Remus' arm. The werewolf nodded. "I know, Sirius. I know."

The next three days were filled with nervous action. People flitted in and out of the house; Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley pulled all the strings they could at the Ministry. And Sirius transformed his anger into a fevered determination. He was a major force in the planning of various missions, and with Tonks they put together a plan to get Harry to where Sirius had had insisted the boy should be from the start.

What caused the most trouble was the selection of people for the mission.

"What do you mean, I can't go??" Sirius thundered, rising from his chair. Tall and gaunt, he towered over Alastor Moody's head. "That's my godson you're talking about!"

"You're an escaped convict in hiding," Moody said flatly. "You're a danger to the mission."

"But no-one's supposed to see us anyway!" Sirius protested.

"Someone can see us, and if they see you they'll call in the Aurors." Tonks tried to placate him. "Listen, we can do it. We care about Harry too. He'll be safe with us."

Sirius sat back with a sigh. "Remus will go with you," he stated. "And I won't take no for an answer to that."

Everyone nodded in acceptance.

"I'll make sure he's all right," Remus muttered to his friend.

"You do that. I trust you, Moony. I should go - but if you go, it's almost the same, right?" Sirius's face held an almost desperate need for reassurance.

"Of course, Padfoot." And Remus summoned a smile to his face.

Once the rescue group came back from Little Whinging, he stayed by Sirius' side throughout the day, until Harry was safely sleeping in the bedroom next to Ron Weasley. They performed a last check of the house, checking all exits against dark influences. Finally they retired to Sirius' bedroom. Since that first day it had been cleaned and furnished with a set of worn but comfortable armchairs.

They sat in silence, looking into the bright fire in the fireplace.

"I feel better now, knowing he's here," Sirius said quietly. "If they come after him - I can fight them. I can do something."

"You sound as if you're eager for them to attack."

A baleful look from under a mess of dark hair. "Well, it would be an adventure!"

"Padfoot, you give 'adventure' a truly twisted meaning." Remus tried to make his voice strict, but failed.

"That's what's so lovable about me, isn't it?" Sirius laughed, then abruptly stopped. "Thanks for - during dinner. I thought-"

"You weren't thinking." The werewolf sighed. "You should apologize to Molly."

"I will. And hey, I'm glad you were there. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Drive yourself crazy for a change, probably." Remus' lips twisted in a smile. "And I doubt you'd take it as gracefully as I do."

"Damn straight."

For a second, as they laughed together, he could pretend the walls were thicker stone, the magic in them benevolent, that the boy sleeping three doors down had brown eyes and a forehead clear of scars.

~ With his hands, he claws at the floor in a sudden fit of fury.

The wood chips under his fingers, and the traces are twisted.

His hands are shaking. ~

All throughout the fall, Sirius' restlessness seemed both curbed and increasing, as if he had trapped it in some reservoir and now the pent-up energy was exerting far too much pressure on its walls. Remus did his best to keep his friend occupied; each time he passed through Grimmauld Place (which was far more seldom than he wished), he recounted his recent adventures and asked for advice and opinion. But Dumbledore was assembling a large and delicate political alliance, and with Hagrid otherwise occupied, Remus was the only one who could play emissary to those who other people called creatures of the Dark. So while the werewolf parlayed with banshees, leshy and the batfolk, Sirius remained cooped up, with only Buckbeak and Kreacher for company. The hippogriff fared no better, trapped as it was in a small room. And that was the way Remus found them when he came back from a lengthy errand in the ancient forest of White Tower.

Buckbeak, feathers tousled, talons outstretched, lay on the floor. Every minute or so, the animal would turn its head to the other side and lay it back on the floor. The beak had already worn a long, straight groove in the floorboards, an inch deep.

And Sirius, looking at Buckbeak with unseeing eyes, flexing his hand along a brass sphere that was once part of a bedpost in his mother's bedroom.

Remus tried very hard not to see that his friend's fingers had worn deep grooves in the metal.

Then Sirius saw him and turned to face the werewolf. It was as if someone had flicked his wand and transformed him - the dark eyes suddenly glowed with an almost feverish joy.

"Moony! It's great you're here! Had a good trip? For once I've got the news too - I've been talking to Harry recently," he babbled as he led Remus down the stairs to the kitchen. "Harry had a splendid idea - all right, so Hermione got it too - to start a study group in Defense against the Dark Arts. I wish someone in the Order had thought of it first, after all they sure haven't been learning anything useful in DADA this year, not under that idiot Umbridge."

Remus kept the smile at his friend's excitement private and nodded to Sirius' wordless offer of tea.

"Can't bloody fathom why they let a narrow-minded fool like that go within ten miles of Hogwarts, but that's Fudge for you - man couldn't find his arse with both hands and a wand. So anyway, first meeting was in the Hog's Head and Mundungus happened to be there, but fortunately I was able to talk to Harry before he made any more blunders. Think he'll settle for one of the secret passages after that new decree - heard about it?"

Remus shook his head as he munched on a biscuit. "Remember, I've spent the past two weeks in the middle of a forest. The closest I got to hearing news of home was seeing an English grey squirrel."

"All student groups at Hogwarts are now subject to approval of the High Inquisitor."

"I see. That woman-" Remus always referred to Umbridge as 'that woman', because otherwise he was afraid he would say something quite uncivil "-will hardly approve a group like that if she doesn't want anyone to know any practical magic."

"Fortunately Harry's not so easily frightened by just expulsion," Sirius beamed. "That's what I told him, that he should go ahead, give Dumbledore the forces he'll need once You-Know-Who surfaces. I would have helped with planning, only Umbridge was snooping along the Floo network and interrupted us."

Remus set down his teacup slowly, very carefully. "Sirius Black. You encouraged Harry to break a Ministry decree, get in trouble even more after what happened over the summer, endanger himself with expulsion, and all this to do the very thing the Daily Prophet accuses Dumbledore of doing at least once a week. And all this through an unsecured Floo connection. Am I correct?"

Sirius' face glowed. "Yes. It was fun, just like when we were at Hogwarts."

The werewolf stood up and stalked around the kitchen table. "It was a foolish, reckless and dangerous thing to do." He pronounced each word carefully. "You've put Harry and his friends in danger. You put yourself in danger. If Umbridge tracked you, she could have Ministry Aurors here within fifteen minutes, faster than we could clean this place out of all Order of the Phoenix materials. Sirius, this was stupid!"

The dark-haired wizard got up as well. Even with the thinness of Azkaban still clinging to him, he towered a good four inches over his friend. "Relax," he said flippantly. "You're too wound up after all those stupid trips. You sound like - I dunno. Molly Weasley. Or Wormtai-"

He caught himself mid-word, but too late.

"Is that how you see me?" Remus growled. "How you see everyone who stops you from 'having fun'? Is everyone a traitor unless they do exactly like you want?"

He turned away and focused his eyes at the stove. His hands were clenched. "Grow up, Sirius. We're not in school anymore."

He head a soft sound behind him, like a half-smothered whimper. When he turned around, he saw that Sirius had slumped to the floor by the window, the long thin arms wrapped around himself.

"I'm s-sorry." The apology was barely louder than a whisper. "S-so sorry... didn't mean..."

Long dark hair covered Sirius' face until Remus' fingers parted it. Underneath, dark eyes were matted with strange emptiness.

"Sorry." The litany continued. "I didn't... it's just... so empty here... so cold..."

"Yes, Padfoot?" Remus prompted.

"I feel like I'm back in Azkaban, sometimes. I can't leave, and there's Dementors too... I see them in my mind whenever I close my eyes." Sirius' voice was quick, feverish. "I wish we had never come here, to my childhood prison, to her and to Kreacher and to all this... But we took the chance and now I feel like I've passed my own death... like this is hell, and I took a shortcut around the dying and judgment part.

"But I didn't mean what I said. I really didn't. I just didn't think..."

"You never do." Cold, cold words.

Sirius leaned back, his head against the windowsill. "Forgive me, Moony?"

Remus looked at him and remembered. And remembered the deaths and betrayals, too. And the loneliness.

He found forgiveness in his mind, if not in his heart.

"Get up, Padfoot. Your tea's getting cold."

Rating: PG-13 Pairing: Sirius and Remus friendship. Could be interpreted otherwise, I suppose. But mostly concentrating on the bond between those two; the interpretation of the nature of the bond is left as an exercise for the reader. Spoilers: everything up to and including Order of the Phoenix. Yes, including THE SPOILER. Summary: Afterwards, Remus remembers the last year they had. Disclaimer: They're JKR. I just peeked behind the scenes. Archive: Beth's Miscellany , Azkaban's Lair, otherwise ask Note: Sweetness and tragedy. Dedicated to everyone who let me babble at them after I read OotP.

EIGHT SHARDS OF A BROKEN MIRROR by Beth (renfri@a...)

~ Outside the window, there are green trees. Beyond them, the dark void.

The stars are dead tonight.

A flash of pain in his hand as he holds a mirror-shard.

-red-crimson-carmine-ruby-red-

Two colors in a world of monochrome- -festive red and green ~

It was only the beginning of December, but the people across the road already put up a wreath on their front door. Remus caught Sirius staring at it wistfully from the living room window.

"Why don't you tell Kreacher to put some decorations up?" he prompted from his seat on the sofa.

"Nah. Old idiot would probably make them out of skulls or something. Mother was never big on seasonal things..."

This was perhaps the second time Remus heard his friend mention his mother outright and civilly. "Well, we could do it ourselves."

The dark-haired wizard nodded. "I'd like that. Everything in red and gold."

"Gryffindor colors? I've never noticed, but they do fit Christmas. I'll buy some tomorrow." Mentally, Remus calculated the amount of money he had left. He was saving on room and board by staying with Sirius, but still.

"Yeah. Did I tell you Bill Weasley worked things out with my Gringotts vault?"

The werewolf blinked. "He did?"

"Yes. So I'll be wanting a great big tree, enough wizarding ornaments to fill the room from wall to wall, talking animals, self-wrapping wrapping paper-" Sirius noticed his friend's glare. "Yes, Moony?"

"You don't think it'll look in any way suspicious if poor Remus Lupin starts splurging on Christmas ornaments?" Remus asked dryly. "I think we may have to tone it down just a little."

"Oh, all right. I trust you'll choose pretty things on a budget. Just don't think of spending your own money."

"Sirius..." Remus' indignation was almost a palpable thing.

"Okay, you can chip in for Harry's present, but that's all. And we'll choose it together. Satisfied?"

Remus sighed, softly, and went back to his Journal of Jinxes, special Christmas edition. He was wondering if he would soon find a use for the spell which made the target grow pine needles and sparkle in festive colours.

They chose the first decorations over the next two days and argued a bit about what to buy for Harry. In the end they ended up choosing a set of Defense Against the Dark Arts books, and Sirius slipped three quarters of the price into Remus' wallet when he thought his friend wasn't looking. After some more arguing (in the course of which Remus did use the spell from the Journal of Jinxes, and wished for a camera to take the picture of the world's first Grim-shaped Christmas tree), they settled on an author and edition.

He had to leave again the next week, playing observer at the gathering of the Low Folk in Tara, and he was not there when the Weasley situation came up. He did keep in touch through a set of charms both he and Sirius had - absolutely secure communication - and tried to keep his friend's spirits up. The family cheer seemed to be doing him good, but Remus still remembered the day in Buckbeak's room. Too long in too small a confinement, perhaps, but then he recalled that Sirius had spent much longer in a much less comfortable place, and emerged unscathed. Right.

And then it was December 24th, and he and Tonks were flying home, not on a broom but through Aer Lingus, courtesy of another observer at the Tara talks. There were incessant carols ringing through the plane, and a number of them seemed to deal with hurrying home for Christmas. It made him smile.

Tonks said goodbye at Blackfriars, and wished him a happy Yuletide. He slipped into 12, Grimmauld Place without a sound. Even the portrait did not wake. But he had seen light in Sirius' bedroom window, and he hurried there.

"Moony!" Sirius exclaimed. "Glad you made it - how was the journey?"

"Muggle-style, airplane. It's surely more comfortable than a broom."

"So you did take the kid up on his offer? Wait till Harry sees you here. He's been a bit down on account of the dream, but I'm sure he'll be glad."

"And I'll be glad to see him," Remus said mildly.

Somewhere, a church bell tolled twelve times.

"Merry Christmas," they chorused.

Then the werewolf excused himself for a moment and got an intricately wrapped package from his room next door. "No sense in leaving this until morning," he explained.

Sirius nodded enthusiastically. "Just a moment, let me fetch yours."

"Oh. Who did you bully into getting it?"

"No-one, got it myself. I've been choosing one for months. Didn't want anyone buying it for me, and I couldn't very well have a magical shop deliver here, so I had to go through Muggle mail-ordering and everything."

"Thank you." Remus' smile could light up a ballroom. "Now if you'd kindly take your head out of the wardrobe?"

Sirius obediently pulled away from the wardrobe, his own package in hand.

"Merry Christmas, Padfoot."

"Merry Christmas, Moony."

They hesitated for a half-moment, then hugged like if they were back in the second-year dormitory at Hogwarts and just found out they both pulled the same Christmas morning prank on each other.

That over with, Sirius tore the intricately wrapped paper from his gift. "What can this - oh! It's great!"

It was an intricately carved wooden figure of a dog that immediately wriggled out of Sirius' hand and ran yapping around the room, barking at various disordered items and dragging them out of sight.

"It's a Mess-Herded," Remus explained to a convulsively laughing Sirius. "My guide on the Karpaty trip made them. You always objected to cleaning spells, but I think you'll like this one."

"Like it? I love it!" Sirius exclaimed. "Now Molly won't be able to tell me I don't have one useful thing in here!"

Remus unwrapped his gift much more sedately. But he was unable to stop his gasp when he touched the warm fabric.

"Padfoot, this is too expensive," he protested.

"No it isn't. I couldn't look at you walking around in that threadbare old rag. And there's even a practical excuse - if you catch your death in the cold, you're no good to the Order."

It was a cloak. The simple word was almost an insult to the workmanship of the garment. The lining was a strange, short-haired fur in a deep green color that could not be natural. Under Remus' fingers the middle layer of insulation - most probably more fur - was soft and almost liquid. The outer layer was the most magnificent: the winter-weight wool had been dyed and sewn into a kaleidoscope of warm browns in shades ranging from amber to bitter chocolate.

"Try it on," Sirius demanded.

Remus did, and it was the most comfortable thing he had ever worn. He could tell it wouldn't let cold through even in the deepest reaches of Siberia, and yet in room-temperature he did not feel overly warm.

"Great, your hair looks almost red with this on. I'll put a warming charm on it, too, before you go back to Ireland," Sirius said. "I'm glad it fits - Beverly said she'd adjust it if it didn't, but it'd take time."

"Beverly?" Remus' head snapped up. "Sirius, you didn't go out, did you?"

"Relax. I did say I went through Muggle mail-order. I got her address from a magazine of Charlie's, one of those from that Creative Society of something or other. She makes those cloaks for Muggles who play dress-up. Nice girl, we exchanged a lot of letters over this."

"Since when do you know how to use Muggle mail?"

Sirius glared. "I'm not an idiot, you know. I ordered parts for the bike all the time, remember? Definitely not things you can get in a wizarding shop."

Remus nodded sheepishly. "Thank you for a great present."

"You're welcome." Sirius' hand rested on Remus' shoulder, a warm and very familiar weight. "Merry Christmas."

They heard a soft growl and looked down to see the Mess-Herder dragging all wrapping paper into a neat pile and lying down on it. The wooden creature looked at them and yawned, revealing a red-painted mouth.

"Good idea," Sirius said.

"Do you ever have trouble sleeping?" Remus laughed, and it was true: even after Azkaban, all of Sirius' nightmares occurred in daylight.

"Watch it, wolf-boy, or I'll keep you here as a pillow."

They laughed, and the little toy watched them, tongue lolling and mouth open in a semblance of a smile.

~ Light causes shadows, but also reflections. The lights outside dance in the shards. On the walls, figures from some distant world twist and turn as they move through a ritual of grief.

He is holding a shard to his face, and moving it over his lip. The blood tastes almost sweet. ~

Number 12, Grimmauld Place was quieter and darker once Harry and the Weasleys left. Remus found himself spending less and less time there as the winter moved on; there was something in Sirius' feverish desire for news of the outside world that he found disturbing. On the other hand he did appreciate the rare smiles that his friend gave him as he came in through the door and brushed the snow off his new autumn-colored cloak. So come in he did, and assailed his best to give his friend a pale substitute of taking part in the actual fight.

After a particularly grim period at the beginning of March, the coming spring seemed to light a new fire in Sirius' eyes. He laughed more often. It helped that the Order's activities were intensifying and the Animagus' keen brain was employed to the fullest in analyzing the enemy's movements. Other members of the Order made sure to remind him that he was supremely qualified for the task of predicting the Death Eaters' plans, seeing as they were mostly people he had known in childhood and was related to. And indeed he recalled the most amusing happenings from days past; even Moody had to laugh at the explanation of why Bellatrix Lestrange could not possibly be conspiring to enlist the aid of the Giant Slugs of Scotland for Voldemort's cause. It turned out that as a child she had been trapped in a pit full of slugs and ever since, the sheer thought of them was enough to reduce her to a gibbering wreck that whimpered for some salt.

"It's strange," Sirius said when everyone had recovered from fits of laughter. "Now that I think of it, even Bella wasn't that bad, in the beginning. Sure, she was conceited and snobbish, but not bad."

Remus nodded. "Even the Slytherins were just bullies at worst, and some weren't that bad. I remember I always thought Lysandra was all right."

"She was You-Know-Who's first convert in your generation, wasn't she?" Moody asked.

"Yes - though I never knew why she did that. Anyway, they say he killed her later because she had a conscience attack."

"Or just wanted to take his place." The old Auror shrugged. "I faced her in battle. Now we have to figure out what her cousin is planning." For emphasis he stabbed his wand into the list of known Death Eaters, making Lucius Malfoy's name glow green.

~ The tears make the images waver, and he knows some of them are not real. Cannot be real.

Because those who are looking at him, smiling, reaching out- -no.

He has sat the wakes, and he has gone to the funerals. For all of them.

All of them but one. ~

Easter rolled around without major incidents, and Remus spent more and more time at Grimmauld Place. Thus he happened to be in the kitchen when Harry contacted them through Floo. The talk of their school days, and what they had been like as people, disturbed him, and after the boy broke off the connection, he wanted to discuss it with his friend.

"I'll teach that greasy bastard to refuse his duty!" Sirius was still fuming over Snape breaking off Harry's Occlumency lessons.

"I said I'll handle it," Remus reminded him. "And if Harry went snooping around in Snape's memories, you have to admit it's a bit his fault as well."

"Oh, because in no way can Snivellus be to blame?" Sirius balked. "You didn't defend him like that when we were kids!"

"Perhaps I should have," Remus snapped. "I should have noticed, Sirius. I should have noticed what our actions were doing to people."

"What do you mean?"

"The way Harry described it - Snape was lonely then, and probably hesitating whether or not to go with Lysandra's scheme and join You-Know-Who. What if it was our taunting that pushed him over the edge?"

"Well, he didn't have to - he could have just acted decently-"

"By allowing himself to be mistreated? Come on, you didn't give him a chance then."

"Well, you see what sort of sarcastic evil bastard he is now!"

Remus shook his head. "And have we made him that? Have we, in part, caused-"

He did not have to finish that line, for they both knew what he meant. Peter, little Peter had watched them taunt and harass those who could not defend themselves. He had admired it. Did that not make him make that choice, go to the stronger side where he could again watch and cheer as the weak were dealt with?

Sirius' arm rested on the werewolf's shoulders. "We were kids, Moony," he whispered.

"We were old enough to know better. We should have."

Afterwards they remained silent. They watched the sun set through the kitchen window, and though neither knew it, they both tried to mentally force the light not to die.

~ How?

How did he come to be here?

And he remembers entering the room.

Traces of old posters on the wall.

And a mirror that said,

Grief becomes you.

And how he did not feel pain when it shattered. ~

Until the end of his days, Remus will remember Snape's face as it appeared in his phoenix mirror. The Potions Master seemed even paler than normally, and shutters had fallen somewhere behind his dark eyes.

"Harry told me the Dark Lord has Black at the Department of Mysteries."

It was through a supreme effort of will that he did not drop the mirror.

"I called Black, and he hasn't moved from headquarters. Harry went with Umbridge into the forest, and has not come back. A few of his friends - all members of his defense group - disappeared as well. We can only assume-"

"-that they went on a rescue mission," Remus finished. "Moody, Kingsley, Tonks. Headquarters. An **hour** ago."

There was a growl in his voice, and for once Snape did not argue, but nodded.

Thirty seconds later, Remus was standing in front of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The door opened before he could knock. There was a hint of madness in Sirius' eyes.

"What's going on?" the Animagus demanded, pulling his friend inside the house.

"Easy." Remus placed his hands on Sirius' shoulder. "No-one knows yet, but Harry doesn't have transport - he can't possibly already be at the Department. People are coming here, everyone who's free. We'll go after him."

Sirius smiled grimly and went upstairs, leaving Remus to find his way into the kitchen and talk to a few more people. When he finished informing Molly Weasley of the situation, Sirius was back - in a black robe cut to facilitate movement, and with a wand in his hand.

"No," Remus said.

"I need to."

And the dark eyes were sad and tired and just a little bit insane.

"Oh, Padfoot-"

"The game is up anyway, he has to have Death Eaters there to force Harry to actually pick up the prophecy," Sirius argued. "You'll need every wand you can get."

Remus nodded, and they went out to meet the others, arm in arm. In the back of his mind he heard a half-remembered sound he had heard on his trip to Ireland. A woman had been dying at the house they stayed in, and the wail had woken them all from sleep. He had been somewhat surprised that Artemis, a Muggle, had been the one to place it first: a banshee.

They did not speak at all as they hurried to the Ministry. Even Moody had not disputed Sirius coming with them. Later, Remus thought it must have been that glint of mania, the glint that he now knew had been present in both of them.

Once inside, they walked side-by-side, sweeping through the corridors. Their steps fell in the same moment, and even Tonks did not falter. Then they stood in front of the door to the Department of Mysteries.

Sirius' hand brushed fleetingly against the werewolf's. Remus saw everyone's eyes turn towards him, perhaps in acknowledgement of the fact he had been the one to call them.

"Let's do it."

They found them. It was not hard to follow the trail of destruction and fallen bodies. They paused briefly to check that the children were all right, and the Weasley girl was conscious enough to tell them where to go next.

Harry was untouched, and the Death Eaters had not struck him yet. They stood in a miniature stone amphitheatre with a dais at its center. When they came through the door, Remus' eyes fell upon the archway on the dais, and he heard the banshee's wail again. He had heard rumours of this place, but he had not known that anyone in the Ministry was actually foolish enough to remove it from the forgotten and forbidden city in which it had stood for thousands of years.

And then he could not think at all, because the fight began.

It was as if he were taking part in a most complicated chess game. There were the children to protect, and the Death Eaters to destroy. He seemed to look at everything at once: he shouted orders to Tonks as she tried to contain Bellatrix Lestrange, he fired a quick curse at one of Kingsley's opponents as he turned, and all the while he made his way towards the children.

A Death Eater stood in his way, and green light already gathered around the outstretched wand. Remus ducked under the incoming Avada Kedavra and chose not to cast a curse of his own; instead he kicked out, cutting his opponent off his feet. Fire raged through him, silver fire as if the moon were looking at him in its fullness. He fired off curse after curse, and if a Death Eater came close enough, he used his fists as well. He barely noticed when Dumbledore joined the fray, though his opponent at the time dropped his wand and started to back away. He knew they were winning now-

The spell was only one in a stream of hexes and counterhexes that flowed around him, but it cut through the din straight to his heart. He turned almost before the sound registered, and watched.

Watched Sirius go back, his back arched, graceful. The black hair fluttering around a face that was still gaunt. The dark eyes obscured, but he knew they were still filled with defiance and that little glint that made him shiver when he looked into them.

And then through the veil.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream down the heavens, call upon all demons of hell, tear the veil from its bearings for all the good that it would do him.

He wanted to go through.

But then he saw movement, and he knew other things came first. Three steps and he seized Harry in his arms.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-"

And it hurt, it hurt to say these things, like if he was pushing steel pins straight into his heart. He tried to reason with the hysterical boy, but his voice was breaking. With every word, with every admission of the fact he had just seen, another shot of pain tore through him.

Finally he managed to pull Harry away from the dais. He reached deep into himself and found a place where he could draw strength from, a place where he could stash those feelings until he was free to let them out. Right now there were things that needed to be done. The children-

But as he took the curse off the Longbottom boy, a loud bang sounded out. Before he could raise his wand arm - before he could remember he was still holding Harry - Bellatrix ran by them. Harry tore himself free with a shout and ran after her, his robes open like the wings of a disheveled bat.

Remus did not follow.

He looked around to make sure that the other Death Eaters were contained, immobile or unconscious. Then he went to the Arch of Death. He stood in front of it for a long time, listening to the half-audible whispers.

Kingsley put a hand on his shoulder, and he shivered once, violently. Then he shrugged the hand off, turned and left.

He went through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic. His back was straight, his head high, his face smooth and calm.

A ministry official, one of Fudge's, was going in the opposite direction. When he looked at the werewolf's face, he blanched and stepped to the side, letting him pass.

The entrance hall was in uproar. Dumbledore and Fudge faced each other over the ruins of the fountain. Then Dumbledore turned to the door, mindless of the fuming Minister for Magic. There was sorrow on the old face.

"Contact me if you need my assistance." Remus' voice was toneless as he looked away.

"Where will you be?"

And a crack in the death-mask, a grimace too devoid of emotion to be a smile. A whisper.

"Home."

~ He is lying on the floor now, the shards all around him. He gathers them in his hands and watches them fall. The mirror is broken, but still beautiful. He suddenly wants to preserve those fragments, to frame them in silver and hang them on the tree during Christmases to come.

And with a sound that he now knows is the memory of the banshee's wail, something breaks.

He stands up. A flick of his wand, and the shards are stored in a box on the mantelpiece. He makes a mental note to buy silver wire later.

They are waiting for him in the kitchen when he comes down. A meal is on the table, and lots of wine. He knows this is a wake they are holding, and he knows that they were unsure whether it was for one person or two.

He picks up a goblet. It gleams as he raises it.

"To Sirius," he says.

He knows it will go on, and he knows it will hurt.

After all, this is not the first time.

Later, he takes out a photo that he has carried since it was taken a quarter of a century ago. There are four people in the photo, four boys barely out of childhood. Two faces are circled in red ink.

The inkwell is still where he left it, on the bottom of his trunk, on the night his life broke for the first time.

He thinks about what it means to survive.

To live.


End file.
